


build me up (like a sandcastle)

by i_am_my_opheliac



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Marijuana, beach au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 07:11:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15213878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_my_opheliac/pseuds/i_am_my_opheliac
Summary: The sand is sticking to his feet, slightly damp and cold because of the humid air. He usually hates the grainy feeling of it in between his toes, feels uncomfortably itchy just at the idea, but he finds that he doesn't care right now.Not when he feels like this, floaty and relaxed and free, a combination of the three mojitos in his system, the joint placed in between his lips and the body heat of the man grinding against him, hips pressing firmly against his crotch and arms draped around his neck.--written for the @phandomficfest flash fest: Summer AU





	build me up (like a sandcastle)

**Author's Note:**

> Because growing up in a tiny beach town means the only social interactions you get in summer are from beach parties, even if you hate the beach and you don't like parties - but you end up loving the atmosphere in it anyway.
> 
> As usual it's not beta-ed so I hope it makes sense

A beach party isn’t Phil’s scene, not really. Nothing about it is, honestly - not the thumping of the loud music in his ears, or the sickly sweet scent of weed in the air, and definitely not the sweaty bodies pressing against him from all sides, moving uncoordinatedly to the rhythm of a new summer song blasting from the speakers.

The sand is sticking to his feet, slightly damp and cold because of the humid air. He usually hates the grainy feeling of it in between his toes, feels uncomfortably itchy just at the idea, but he finds that he doesn't care right now.

Not when he feels like this, floaty and relaxed and free, a combination of the three mojitos in his system, the joint placed in between his lips and the body heat of the man grinding against him, hips pressing firmly against his crotch and arms draped around his neck.

He’s beautiful, face glistening in the flashing lights of the beach club, sweaty curls glued to his forehead and blown out eyes looking at Phil like he wants to devour him. He’d gladly let him, he’s sure of it, he’s already dying to feel that mouth on him - and that’s exactly what he does the next time the guy presses his hips against his crotch, with intent, biting his bottom lip as he smirks up at Phil.

Phil takes the joint from his lips and crashes his mouth against the stranger’s, exhaling the smoke into his mouth, head hazy from the weed and cherry vodka he can taste on the man’s tongue as it tangles with his. The kiss is sloppy and dirty and has no technique behind it, their bodies are pressed even closer together by the crowd and he can feel a rivulet of sweat dripping from his hair to the back of his neck, where the man’s hands still are. He can’t help but imagine him putting those fingers in his mouth and licking Phil’s sweat from them, lips wrapping around them the same way they could wrap around his cock.

He groans in the middle of the kiss, already painfully hard, and he’s delighted to feel a whimper in return. It’s that whimper that pushes him to make his next move, the knowledge that this stranger - who is younger and gorgeous and the personification of every wet dream Phil has ever had, this beautiful guy who could have anyone in that club and has chosen to buy _him_ a drink - is as fucked up from their make out session as he is.

He pulls away, lips tingling from the kiss and panting for oxygen like he hasn’t been breathing for hours. The man seems to be in a similar state, lips red and plump from the kiss, and all Phil wants is take him apart and make him his.

“Follow me?” He asks before he can even realize he’s doing it, grabbing his hand and starting to walk away from the dance floor, knees wobbling - from the alcohol, from the weed or from the kissing, he’s not sure. He doesn’t have to turn to make sure the man is following, can still feel the firm grasp of his hand in his, long fingers tangled with his own and Phil can already imagine the feeling of those fingers touching him, wrapping around his dick, making him see stars.

He can’t wait, but maybe he’s being too eager.

“Wait”, he hears behind him, barely loud enough to be heard over the music. Phil turns to look at the man and sure enough, he’s the one speaking up, feet no longer moving but still holding his hand. He’s biting at his bottom lip, looking bashful and amused at the same time, and _fuck_ , Phil wants him so much it almost hurts.

“What is it?” He asks - or rather shouts - taking a step back towards him. His vision is a bit blurry and his ears are thrumming, but he tries to focus on the man, tries to make him understand he’s listening and cares about what he has to say.

If possible, the man looks even more bashful, a light pink color dusting his cheeks as he lowers his head just a bit, watching Phil through his eyelash. Phil has no idea how someone can look so adorable and so tempting at the same time, but he does.

“I don’t even know you. You could be a serial killer for all I know.”

It takes a few seconds for Phil’s brain to register the words that have been shouted over the music, but when he does he can’t help but grin. He must look like an idiot, grinning like a maniac with an obvious boner visible through his tight black shorts, but he couldn’t give a fuck.

He takes another step and there he is, pressed against him once again - and he thinks it’s a good thing that the guy is not stepping away, but simply looks at him with what seems like all the attention in the world, eyes soft and curious.

“You’re right,” Phil says to his ear, nose filling with the musky scent of him. “I’m Phil, nice to meet you.”

When he pulls away - just a little bit, just to watch his face - the guy is smiling from ear to ear, showing a dimple on his cheek. “Well then, is that right.” He says, amusement latched on every word. They’re still shouting, the music too loud to do much else, but for Phil it’s like they’re in their own little bubble. “I’m Dan.”

 _Dan_ , Phil thinks, and he can almost feel the name engraving itself in his mind. Something inside of him is telling him he’s not likely to forget it anytime soon. He squeezes Dan’s hand, giving him a little tug.

“Well, Dan. Do you trust me now?”

He knows it’s a silly thing to ask - Dan doesn’t know him, only thing that he knows is Phil’s name, of course he doesn’t trust him. But Dan just shakes his head and laugh, then takes a step and starts following him, toes dipping in the sand as they move away from the crowd.

The beach club isn’t Phil’s scene, not really, but Dan - Dan seems to fit into his scene just right.


End file.
